


Perpetual Center of Gravity

by reiltean



Category: Star Wars, Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Hand Jobs, I'll add tags as I update, Kylo Ren is Not Nice, Masturbation, Naked Female Clothed Male, POV First Person, Porn With Plot, Teacher-Student Relationship, Very Very Slow Burn, reader is shy, trying to make this as realistic as possible
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:40:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25163284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reiltean/pseuds/reiltean
Summary: You’re a brilliant university student when the dark and dangerous Professor Ren rushes into your life. Fascinated by his wild beauty and harsh attitude, conscious of the risk of your attraction, you’re inevitably drawn to this mysterious man – and you quickly fall into his trap.A tormented passion shatters over you with unseen strength, destroying the thin line between love and passion.
Relationships: Kylo Ren & Reader, Kylo Ren & You, Kylo Ren/Reader, Kylo Ren/You
Comments: 1
Kudos: 23





	Perpetual Center of Gravity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You meet your new Professor, shockingly large and attractive, and already mess it up by looking at something you most definitely shouldn't look at.

  
The prospect of beginning my third year of University with two exams behind schedule and the one hundred degrees outside isn’t great at all. I thought I cheated the system choosing an easy class like History of Ancient Philosophy, not too hard nor too boring.  
  
Of course, with luck by my side, my choice turned out to be a fail. Philosophy is the only class that begins mid-September, whereas the other ones begin in October. I really love it when luck is riding by my side.  
  
After my summer exams I had one week to relax, and here I am again riding the bus on my way to the faculty, always running late, having lunch in ten minutes, melting in the hot rooms of the old buildings. From now on it’s gonna be nothing but dirty libraries, restrooms with no locks, stacked canteens and vending machine that don’t give change. Great choice, right?  
  
The bus leaves me on the sidewalk and in a handful of seconds I already spot my classmates. _Ugh_. Summer without them was a blast.  
  
I could walk around the building, pretending I haven’t seen them but— Yes, here we go. My reflexes are out of shape. Marka spots me almost immediately: the slimy, pretentious Marka that tried so hard to noose our Latin Literature teacher (with absolutely inexistent results).  
  
I just set foot on campus and I already want to run away.  
  
«You _really_ are alive! We _actually_ thought you were dead. Hey! Guys, it’s _really_ her!» she begins to shout in the street, waving her hands in the air, showing off her slender body, bothering two unfortunate boys having a coffee in the cafeteria next to the building. Oh gosh– sorry guys, not my fault. I can’t do anything about it.  
  
I cross the road hoping someone hits me with his car.  
  
I come near them with a stretched smile, feeling too uncomfortable in my clothes, too thick for the weather, being silently judged for my pale skin next to their bronze and sunkissed tones. _Ugh_.  
  
Luckily, they lose interest in me quickly. Answering their questions with incoherent babbling was a good tactic, after all. I’ll keep that in mind.  
  
Soon enough we head in the boiling building with a few minutes ahead of schedule. While they run up to the first rows of seats, trying to impress the new teacher, I hesitate in the back of the room, breathing in the foul air. I feel like I’m stepping into the evil witch’s oven, trapped and eaten alive by the unkind considerations of my colleagues.  
  
I better stay away from them. I definitely don’t want to be associated with such specimen. God forbid.  
  
I decide it’s better for everyone if I sit in the back, right next to the wall, as I always do. Great prospective from here: if I position myself in the right spot, I’m hidden by the computer monitor. In addition to this, it’s nice and and quiet here. No one is bothering me. I like it here.  
  
A dozen students come in slowly, already annoyed and tired. In their faces I can read my own lack of interest.  
  
I haven’t even grabbed a pen when I see a blue suit rushing inside the room.  
  
Mesmerized by his silhouette, I stare at his back until he reaches the desk on the other side of the classroom, occupying the full room with his humongous stature.  
  
Still speechless, I watch him slamming his leather briefcase onto the desk, sitting down without grace, but without clumsiness either. He seems to be in a rush although the class should begin in five minutes.  
  
«Good morning» he speaks up, shocking more than thirty students at once. Someone greets him back, someone whispers, someone glimpses at him over their phone. Most of my colleagues, however, is left mouth agape.   
  
I myself am stunned by this man.  
  
The first word that bounces around my brain is _large_. How _big_ is this man? Did he have to bend when he stepped under the doorframe? Where did he even get his suit? Where does he come from? Who is he?  
  
This must be a joke. He’s probably in his mid-thirties and he’s sitting in the chair of a university professor— How come? Is he an assistant pretending to be funny? Why is he occupying the place of the ordinary lecturer? Who is this stunningly handsome man?  
  
He can’t be. He can’t _possibly_ be my new professor.  
  
I look at him shamelessly. I wonder how much it’s been since he surpassed his thirties.  
  
There’s something in him— something unbelievably manly and virile. Maybe his attitude? So sure of himself it looks like he’s bad-tempered. He seems somber, moody to say the least.  
  
Maybe it’s the suit that makes him look so austere. It fits him perfectly, although the shirt is a little tight on his torso. Gosh, _a little tight_. It’s already so large, how could be _too small_ on him?  
  
His expression pulls everything together. His frown distorts his sharp features. His appearance is rough, untamed like his black hair.  
  
I start wondering how far this harshness goes when his voice interrupts my thoughts: it’s dark and curt.  
  
«I perfectly understand your disappointment» his voice echoes between the thick walls of the classroom. His tone is too sure of itself and does no admit any reply. It strikes me like a wild wave on a cliff.  
  
«Your professor is currently a visiting professor in Europe, and he doubts he’ll make it back here before the end of the semester» he explains, voice full and loud. He didn’t hesitate once.  
  
«I’m Kylo Ren – you can call me Professor Ren, if you please – and I will be his substitute for now; don’t worry, I would have known you before the exams anyway, since the monographic section of this class will be managed by me» he goes on, looking ad my classmates, inspecting them one by one.  
  
So _this_ is Kylo Ren. I’ve heard of him last year, but I actually thought it was one of those urban legends. The incredibly attractive yet fucking unpleasant assistant that fails students for their tiniest mistakes. Yes, that's him. No doubt.  
  
He’s giving an overview of his lectures but he doesn’t look at the class, as if we’re nothing compared to him.  
  
He’s typing something on the computer: at first sight he may seem distracted but he’s controlling every movement he makes. He carves each word he speaks in the air with millimetric precision.  
  
I keep gazing at his face, noticing his many moles, seeing myself touching them one by one, connecting them with my tiny fingers under his austere sight.  
  
I can’t figure him out. He most definitely looks like a rude asshole, but maybe under all those layers lays a warm heart. Actually no, that’s impossible. His fiery glances tell me something completely different.  
  
He’s so sure of himself he’s borderline vain. He surely knows how to dress properly: his shirt is perfectly ironed and his tie matches the suit perfectly, looking elegant and professional.  
  
However he doesn’t seem to care much about himself: his hair is luscious but messy, and a thin veil of hair covers his jawline.  
  
He looks smart, but not narcissist. He most sure isn’t friendly. How are you really, Kylo? No, right, it’s _Professor Ren_. So snooty.  
  
I can’t even call him that in my head. Jesus, he’s too young to be a professor. There’s no white hair in sight, he doesn’t smell like mothballs and his body is anything but boring. All I can see here is manly features, sharp cheekbones, voluminous hair, full pink lips, and an Adam’s apple that begs to be tasted.  
  
_Who are you_?  
  
Even now that he’s sitting down he looks ridiculously large: broad shoulders, strong arms, thick neck. He keeps silent for a few moments, eyes busy and hands fast on the keyboard.  
  
Oh God, those are some real big hands. I better should not go down this road. Picturing his lips and hands behind my eyelids isn’t a wise decision at all. Especially considering that he isn’t even aware of my existence.  
  
I cannot stop myself from looking at his ring finger.  
  
No ring. This is uncommon. Usually at his age he should be a husband and father... Right?  
  
«Before we analyse the Naturalists, an introduction has to be made about the Anatolian peninsula» he says slowly, pointing at the projector screen, standing up behind the desk. Oh. _Oh._  
  
How _tall_ is he? And why didn’t I noticed it a few moments earlier? He was walking so fast I was too distracted by his rushed entrance. He does have an incredibly statuesque bodyshape, a greek god of the underworld, dark and murky.  
  
I can hear his strong voice, but I can’t really focus on his words. I drink up his body with my eyes, his long and sturdy legs, steady as a rock. His trousers allow me to imagine two strong thighs, muscular and deadly.  
  
Needless to say, aside from his age and employment, he transpires sensuality, making me drool. There’s something savage in him: his deep gaze makes him look like a predator, his fierce hair could be seen as an untamed mane.  
  
A flash of his hair between my legs pops into my head unexpectedly, forcing me to take a deep breath. I need to get a hold of myself.  
  
I can see Meetra looking at him, staring at the bulge of his pants and laughing quietly with Marka. He doesn’t notice them, or he pretends not to: he’s talking about the Greek city of Miletus as if it was the only thing he cared about.  
  
His eyes wander in the classroom, gazing at our faces, trying to memorise our looks: after all, we’re going to be his students for the next three months.  
  
With a twinge of envy, I realise he still hasn’t look at me. At first I’m kind of disappointed, but deep down I think it’s better this way. Considering how shy I am, always trying to pass unnoticed, I’m relieved. This way I can scan him undisturbed.  
  
However, minutes pass by and still he gazed upon each and every single one of my classmates, missing me out every single time.  
  
Is he doing this on purpose? But why?  
  
Maybe he just disapproves of me since I’m sitting in the back of the room. Perhaps he thinks I’m one of those lazy students. That’s fine with me, _Professor Ren._  
  
In response of his behaviour, I grab my notebook and my pen, taking notes as he speaks. Each word comes out of his mouth, I transcribe it onto my sheets. It’s like I’m on autopilot.  
  
I don’t lift my eyes from the paper in almost two hours, more stubborn than ever. I don’t listen to his voice, dark and throaty and nope, we’re not going there, no, I listen to his _words_.  
  
_Fine_. Don’t look at me, and I won’t look at you. Asshole.  
  
_Words_. Yes. _Archè_. Thales of Miletus. I can manage this.  
  


  
Usually in two hours of lectures I need a lot of distractions. I look out the window, I doodle, I gaze at the teacher, at the projector. Today I didn’t have much spare time: I took notes continuously. His tone is so precise, so specific, as if he’s reading from the manual. He didn’t stutter once, he didn’t hesitate a bit.  
  
He’s good. Undeniably good. It’s been two hours of tough lecture, but it wasn’t annoying at all. He’s been up for the whole time, moving his hands excitedly as he proceeded to illustrate Thales’ philosophy, sometimes running his hands through his hair distractedly— a vision of paradise I only caught out of the corner of my eye.  
  
The lesson should’ve ended five minutes ago. Most of the times teachers are flexible. Lectures usually end fifteen minutes before the time scheduled, so that students have time to go to their next class.  
  
He probably didn’t get the memo, because it’s five past twelve and he’s still talking. Some students already left the room, rushing outside. It’s like he hasn’t even noticed. He positions himself so up above us students he doesn’t even care.  
  
After the umpteenth squeak of the door he turns from the blackboard, he snarls at the student who’s sneaking out, with anger in his eyes. He puffs, gazing at his watch.  
Oh, excuse me, Professor. Are we bothering you?  
  
He clears his throat, fixing his tie. I break my own pledge and look at him: tall and glorious, his suit now unbuttoned, unveiling a broad chest.  
  
«I guess this is all for today» he mumbles harshly, his voice full of nuisance.  
  
All students get up at once, buzzing noisily and filling up the room with their voice.  
  
I take advantage of these moments of chaos to lift my eyes up to his face.  
  
He’s still standing upright, waiting for the students to go out. Without thinking about it, I can feel my eyes leaving his defined jaw, scrutinising his upper body, lingering on the light fabric of his shirt, tripping on his belt and finally landing on his bulge for a second, just a _second_.  
  
The dark colour of the fabric isn’t helping much, not allowing me to catch what I’m looking for. He shifts a little bit to the side and I can see the light hitting the spot, revealing a full bulge, all but indifferent.  
  
For a fraction of a second I let my thoughts wonder about the sensation of his body against mine, rubbing and grinding against him, feeling the pressure of his arms against my chest.  
  
As soon as I feel my legs shaking under the desk I come back to myself. Gosh, what am I doing?  
  
I try to disguise my indecency while I collect my things with nonchalance, as if _oops_ — I _totally_ didn’t look at that on purpose.  
  
Standing up slowly, I turn my head to check if he’s still there.  
  
And that’s when I notice he’s looking at me.  
  
His dark eyes meet mine for a moment that feels like an eternity. He forces me to look right back at him, coercing me to face my own sin, preventing me from going away.  
He slowly licks his lips, scanning my reaction with a long and deep glance.  
  
My face turns red as if he slapped me with his hand. Considering my insolence, I’d deserve more than a smack.  
  
I never felt so embarrassed in my life. My hands suddenly get all sweaty, I feel too hot in my sweater and my breath is stuck at the bottom of my throat. This is all my fault.  
I humiliated myself in front of him, the first day of the semester. How can I survive three other months with him?  
  
He looks at me like a parent who just found his child with his hands in the cookie jar. He looks amused, smirking at me, his lips slightly curved upwards. At the same time he seems annoyed, almost angry, because he told his child not to smuggle in the kitchen.  
  
I’m that child.  
  
There’s a sinister sparkle in his eyes, as if he’s asking me why I did that. I really don’t know how how to read his expression, but of one thing I’m one hundred percent sure: he’s not happy about this.  
  
Taking in a deep breath, I manage to grab my stuff and I rush outside the classroom, as fast as a blink of an eye.  
  
But I know his eyes don’t leave me for a second.  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Please note english is not my first language!! I'm very sorry for my eventual mistakes but this is my very first english work. Some important stuff:  
> \- The title of my work is inspired by Franco Battiato's song "Centro di gravità permanente", but you can listen to in the english version ("Center of gravity") by Mika.  
> \- I'm using the first person (I see... I thought...) and the present tense because I think it's much better and really gets you into the part. I think. I hope. I will insert chapters narrated in the first person by Kylo himself, hoping it doesn't seem too heretical.  
> \- I really need you to know that there *will* be explicit content BUT only after a very VERY slow and subtle building of the relationship. Nothing *really nasty* happens until chapter 10ish. MUCH TENSION in the meantime. If this doesn't sound like your cup of tea it's perfectly fine! ♥


End file.
